


The Barlow Woman: A Lady, A Pirate-Maker, A Faithful Soul

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 3x08, Angst and Humor, Episode Related, Forever Confused, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Highly Unlikely Friendship, Season/Series 03, The Teacups Problem, Vane Has So Many Questions, XXVI.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The woman you burn down a fucking town for, <i>after</i> crawling on your belly and begging pardon from the governor - she must’ve been something else.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barlow Woman: A Lady, A Pirate-Maker, A Faithful Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaitanah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/gifts).



“What was she like? The Barlow woman?” Charles asked between hitting one key and the next. They all made the same kind of noise, like drunkards lined up at the tavern doors, so why the fuck were there so many? “The woman you burn down a fucking town for, _after_ crawling on your belly and begging pardon from the governor - she must’ve been something else.”

 

Flint stared hard at him, incapable of answering a simple question without first dressing it up in a dozen more. “You did not ask me then—”

 

“I’m asking you _now_.”

 

“—which begs the question: what has changed?” Another key sounded its protest. “Oh for Christ’s sake, stop torturing that thing!” Nah, it wasn’t the _thing_ that he was in the mood to torture, it was Flint himself, just a bit. “What has it ever done to you?”

 

“Look at it.” He swept out his hand. “It’s just a piece of rotting wood, yeah? And it must’ve cost you more than your captain’s shares. That can’t be right. Or was it already here when you moved in? What happened to the previous owners, then?”

 

“I haven’t murdered them over their musical instrument, if that is what you are imagining.” Why the fuck would Charles care either way? “Not everyone shares your particular style of house-hunting.” Who and what was Flint trying to insult this time? “The instrument is called a clavichord, from the Latin word _clavis_ , meaning ‘key’ and the Greek loan _chorda_ , meaning ‘string’.” Flint strode over and ran his fingers over the keys as if to reassert his ownership. Charles did not back off. “It is a mainly a practice instrument, unfit for performing for a larger audience. Have you ever heard a church organ?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Flint frowned. “Hasn’t Teach ever taken you to church? For educational purposes if nothing else.”

 

That made him laugh. “Yeah, and then we stole the organ-thing so he could play it at midnight and raise the dead.”

 

A wince. “ _Why_ are you so talkative today?”

 

Boredom, mostly. “Why are _you_ so defensive always?”

 

“Because.” Flint’s nostrils flared. “Because _Miranda_ is none of your fucking business, Vane.”

 

“Well, you should’ve fucking _started_ with that, instead of giving me a fucking lecture like some moneybag’s tutor.”

 

“Have you ever even _seen_ a tutor?”

 

They glared at each other, and oddly enough, Flint allowed himself to lose that contest.

 

“Miranda was…” Voice going all wobbly around the name - the things women could do to you, dead or alive. “I cannot possibly explain her to you in simple, unequivocal terms. She was too fundamental a part of who I am.”

 

“Huh. The teacups?”

 

Flint regarded him coolly through narrowed eyes. “She was a _lady_ , Vane. The only true lady I have ever known.”

 

Yeah, ‘cept, what manner of animal was a lady, anyway?

 

If the vein on Flint’s forehead popped open, how loud would be the sound? How big the splash? It was supposed to happen only to old men and governors - another point in favour of dying in battle.

 

“She had dignity.” Flint and his fucking Stare, sharp and bright even in the shuttered gloom. “Do you understand dignity, Charles?”

 

He wasn’t stupid, was he? “It’s what they can’t take away if you don’t let ‘em.”

 

The corners of Flint’s mouth twitched upwards and then fell back down. “Yes, that’s right. Nobody could take that away from her, no matter what.”

 

“A lady with a personal army of keys, string and tea cups, a pirate-maker, what else?”

 

“She was… faithful. Like no other.”

 

“Didn’t she once conspire with the Guthrie worm behind your back?”

 

Flint came at him with a snarl, moving almost faster than his eyes could follow. He had been prepared for  _ a  _ reaction, but being slammed into the wall went beyond his wildest expectations.

 

“You will not insult her again. Ever. Is that clear?”

 

“You want Anne and Billy to find us like this?” Charles wheezed out. Flint did not relax his grip. “Fine, clear, your problem.”

 

Flint measured him silently. “Do you know what puzzles me the most about the whole affair?” No, they were not fucking talking about Eleanor! “If Rackham wasn’t there, who the fuck wrote the note for you?”

 

“What note?”

 

“The note you pinned to the corpse.” Flint let go of him, purposefully ignoring the knife he had whipped out and pointed at Flint’s guts. “Or were there more?”

 

Taking forts was easy. Hunting down a literate man in Nassau, though…  “Did the girl make it out alive?”

 

“Abigail?” Flint sounded like he had forgotten about her existence. “I… should hope so.”

 

“So what happens to a fancy girl after she’s been kidnapped by pirates? Does she get married to a respectable wig? Get locked up in some convent?”

 

Flint rolled his eyes. “She lives.” He paused, and added in a quieter voice: “Until the day she dies.”

 

Just like the rest of them, then. “You know, the more I hear about their world, the more I think _we_ have the right idea.“

 

Silence like reloading a gun. “Comfort, Charles, is not what _they_ give you or deny you. Comfort is the opposite of grief and suffering.”

 

“I thought your opposite of grief and suffering was setting the world on fire.” Charles just did it for the hell of it. “You didn’t look half so miserable when skewering that cunt Ashe.”

 

“How simple must the world look through your eyes.” Before Charles could snap back, Flint added: “I envy you sometimes.”

 

“Yes, you should always envy me.” Charles broke into a grin, hitting another key for emphasis. That would be the right order of things in Nassau.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: since writing/posting this, I've seen, like, two or three different versions of what Miranda's Mystery Musical Instrument is, and it's kind of too late to go back an edit now, so apologies for the inaccuracy /slinks away


End file.
